


Optional

by gentlegrain



Category: Agents of Cracked
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 11:55:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3119267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlegrain/pseuds/gentlegrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bits and pieces from several different pre-finale projects I'll never finish now, presented as-is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Optional

**Author's Note:**

> With further apologies to T.

 

In the bag provided by the Chief, among the knockout gas and snacks and stuff, there are ten packets of condoms.

Dan does _not_ know what to make of this.

"You were promised protection," the Chief growls, with a tone that implies full knowledge of the fact that everyone else is an idiot. In his presence, Dan sure feels like one. "We like to take care of our employees here at Cracked."

"But that's..." Dan feels the first pangs of a confusion headache that he'll soon learn will never go away again. "Sir. Am I expected to be... _making use_ of these?"

"That's fully optional."

"I have no idea what that means. You _did_ hire me for my articles, right?"

From the conveniently placed shadows of his office, the Chief barks: "What else could you possibly be any good for, O'Brien?"

 

 

* * *

 

"Yeah, it was easy," a voice stage-whispers in the kitchen. "Picked the lock. Doesn't look like anyone's home."

Dan had heard someone loudly fiddle with his front door for five minutes and hid inside the closet the moment he heard it finally open. What else was he gonna do, politely request he leave?

Dan listens as someone goes around the apartment, searching through cupboards and drawers to no avail. The burglar occasionally swears.  _What the hell do you want from me, guy_ , Dan imagines yelling at him. _I'm just as mad as you are that I don't have anything worth stealing!_

Well, maybe not as _angry_ , but definitely _upset_ , because the man's so far fruitless search means he's not going to leave anytime soon. _He's bound to check here_ , Dan thinks. _I'll have seen his face, and he'll kill me to avoid eye witnesses, like on TV._

Then there are footsteps closer. Dan holds his breath as the burglar enters the room and excavates the drawer right next to his hidey-hole. His neatly folded t-shirts and vests come flying out in angry bunches of fabric. Dan can feel his heart pounding, can _hear_ his heart pounding, and is pretty sure everyone else within a mile can hear it too. He's going to die here, sitting between boxes of old clay figurines and comic books and on top of what he assumes is his suitcase. The handle digs into his side uncomfortably. He starts to adjust, but then it--

_Moves--_

He's still holding his breath when something slimy and soft brushes against his earlobe.

Dan's first instinct is to scream, but long limbs latch around his face from behind impossibly fast. His second instinct is to squirm uselessly, because he still hasn't made up his mind about how he wants to die. Shot By Random Burglar isn't particularly tempting, but then neither is Eaten By Closet Cthulhu.

"My legs fell asleep," a voice whispers into his ear.

He knows that voice. From work... Michael? Dan has about a dozen urgent questions he'd like to ask if he wasn't being mugged, like what he's doing here, and-- yeah, mostly that one. _What is he doing here._

Miraculously, the closet doors never open. The moment they hear the front door click shut, Michael dashes out of the closet. In the dim light of the bedroom, Dan finally notices Michael is naked.

"I know you have questions, but if I go after him right now, I can still follow him home and shit all over his stuff while he sleeps," Michael lets out in one rushed breath.

 

 

* * *

 

Walking out of the hospital with a new neck brace and an understandable request from staff that they visit some other hospital next time this happened, Michael exhaled contently. "Well! I don't know about you, but that was a really successful day for me."

Dan glanced at the brace and squinted. "Does 'successful' mean something else to you than it does to everyone else?"

"Dan, I got up this morning and thought: 'Today, I'm gonna bone a nurse.' And I did! I'd say that's time well _spent_ , if you know what I mean."

"You slept with a nurse? Is that what all the sponge-eating was about?" Dan looked back at the hospital over the parking lot, half-expecting to see a security officer dashing out through the main entrance to give chase. "Was it-- willingly? You didn't-- did you?"

Michael snorted. "The Iron Claw of Death and Fleshling Chokehold aren't the only moves I've got, you know."

"Yeah, you say that, but you also keep two homeless women as sex slaves."

"It's not so much sex slavery as it is a sex _sweatshop_. Get it?"

"I wish I didn't."

"It works on so many levels!"

As they crossed the street, a passerby nodded to one of them, and judging by her stunning looks, it most certainly wasn't directed to Dan.

"That was the nurse I boned," Michael explained. "We did the Tijuana Wrangler."

As Dan spun around to look at her, he saw she had already turned to wave at the indifferent Michael. He did recognize her from the hospital. When she noticed Dan, though, her expression soured, and her hand fell away. Damn it.

Dan heaved a heavy sigh. "And how did you even find the time to have sex? I was with you the whole time."

Michael shrugged. "I don't know! Everything always works out for me."

"That doesn't explain any--"

"Everything!" Michael stressed, a demented gleam in his eyes. " _Always_."

 

 

* * *

 

 

"I _do_..."

"Well, I found this site last night--"

Dan lowers his morning paper just far enough to demonstrate his sceptical glare and interrupt: "Before you say anything else, I need you to tell me if this is going to be related in any way to what you just asked me."

Michael squints at his bowl of cereal as it overflows milk onto Dan's desk and keyboard. "That depends. What did I ask?"

Dan has learned ages ago to take things like short-term amnesia in stride. "You asked me if I knew what 'slashfic' means."

"Gasp! What a coincidence! I found this site that--"

"It's not a coincidence if you bring it up yourself, and even if you didn't, you still wouldn't be allowed to finish that sentence."

Michael puts on his most offended pout. "Aw! I was only gonna say that--"

"Nope", Dan declares, and turns a page.

All the Harvard education in the world couldn't make Michael understand why Dan wouldn't want to know, but as soon as Michael opens his mouth again, Dan interrupts:

"I don't know how to make it any clearer to you that I don't want to hear a single word about it." He raises his paper again, like a barrier between himself and whatever terrible thing Michael was going to say.

That's alright. Michael knows who does: the Internet.

 

_Title: He Doesn't Actually Own A Dog_

_Author: dreamgallop69420f_

_Pairing: Michael/Daniel_

_Rating: PG_

_Trigger warnings: Swearing, dubcon, roleplay, mpreg, clowns_

_Word count: ~157k_

_Summary: Tape Guy learns a valuable lesson about listening to one's partner._

_Notes: It seemed like you guys had plenty of John/Dave to go around, so I figured I'd take a shot at this pairing. Personal OTP!_

 

 

* * *

 

 

A wiser man would perhaps have said "okay" and accepted that it was wiser to let it go. Instead, feeling vicious, Dan mentioned, off-hand: "And it's hardly true, anyway."

Michael instantly stepped in front of him and leaned forward, dangerously close, to get his narrowed eyes to level with the shorter man. "Dan, are you saying I can't get laid?"

Dan quirked an eyebrow in the most sceptical manner he could manage. "I'm not saying you can't. Obviously you can. I'm just saying that, eventually, there has to come a point in time where people like you run out of the luck you've been using to get ahead."

This was, at any rate, what he was used to telling himself; that at some distant but inevitable future date, the era of Swaim would be over, and he would finally be appreciated for his writing talent, not for being the leash for an evil genius. And he would be appreciated, definitely. Eventually. Probably. Hopefully?

"Luck?" Swaim repeated, enraged. He stepped even closer to yell at spit-splattering distance. _"Luck?!"_

"Yeah", Dan repeated, disheartened enough not to be intimidated by neither the invasion on his personal space nor the foamy saliva on his glasses. "That's what I said."

Michael jabbed his vested chest with a finger almost violently. "I'll show you luck! Better yet: I'll show you _skillz_."

"Sure, okay."

He backed away angrily and began to walk away to the general direction of Wherever Dan Wasn't Going, just to make a dramatic exit. He yelled: "When I'm done with you, you'll rue the day you questioned Michael Danger Swaim!"

"I'm trembling in fear," he deadpanned after him. "And no one thinks that's your middle name."

As he watched Michael steal a car and swerve off, it passingly occurred to Dan that he might just have made his life unnecessarily difficult.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The worst thing about meeting your exact duplicate for the second time is that, by Dan's own rules, you've either fought with him or fucked him, so regardless of what you went with, the awkwardness of a second meeting is enough to psychologically cripple a weaker man. Simultaneously, DOB and BOD resolved not to be that weaker man and to play it cool instead.

"Hello, uh, there," Brian O'Donovan suavely croaked. "Dan, right?"

"Hi, again," Dan said, not at all like he'd just shat his pants. "Been a while, huh?"

 _A while_ meaning two months, three weeks, six days, one hour and thirty-eight minutes, precisely - plus fifteen seconds, if you count the awkward relative silence that preceded their greetings. He'd actually been counting; not like how a crazy person or someone in love, but like how someone might be ridiculously desperate to put something behind them to the point where they count and bless every second that has passed since.

Brian cleared his throat. "How are you? Nowadays?"

"I've actually been trying to get into this alcoholism thing." Dan raised his Coffee to demonstrate. "I hear it's a great coping mechanism."

Brian grimaced with empathy. "Yeah, I tried that out for a while. It didn't really mix with the lifestyle."

"Lifestyle? What, you mean being an Internet comedian?"

"No, I mean routinely making bad decisions even _without_ the assistance of alcohol. Which you are..." Brian looked away, and not only out of shame. "Living proof of. No offense. Hey, speaking of bad decisions - have you, ah, seen Michael?"

Dan frowned. How was it that every aspect of his life seemed to be spiraling in that direction? He was trying to have small talk with someone who shared his exact same pop culture obsessed version of OCD, and somehow Michael - and not Spider-Man! - was the subject that they inevitably ended up talking about? Jesus. He came to this bar (to _any_ bar, really) to specifically forget about that part of his life, and now this ass was ruining everything.

"I only work with him every single day," he said, somewhat irritably. "If you mean right now, then no. He might routinely break into my apartment, but he doesn't know where _this_ is, unless he's been st--"

"He's been stalking you again."

"Yes, unless he's been stalking me again. And I really shouldn't put that past him, but I want to hold onto this particular illusion of freedom for just a little while longer, so if you'll excuse me--"

Brian shook his head. "No, I mean he's been stalking you again, and he _definitely_ knows where this is, because this is where I'm supposed to pick up _my_ partner. He said he'd be at this address with Michael..." Here he paused, as if doubting his own memory. "... 'Having a blast'. He did air quotes, too, like this." He replicated a gesture that could've been anything between a pair of twinkling stars and sexual harassment.

"What does that mean?" Dan asked. "I mean, in the context of their little world? With the hands?"

"That's what baffled me too. I only agreed to pick him up because Commish told me to make sure they don't blow the place up or anything."

"Sarge _would_ hold me responsible for that," he realized with a mix of horror and acceptance.

"'You have to look out for the retard'," they quoted in unison.

The lights went out, followed by the scream of a woman somewhere nearby.

"Oh shit," they added, jumping off their chairs and to their feet, both pumped full of adrenaline and ready for any action that was required for them to heroically save their own respective asses.

Then the lights came back on.

"I'm sorry," a stunningly beautiful woman slurred. "I bumped into the light switch. I'm drunk. I just had sex in a public restroom."

"With me," added Michael, who took a seat next to Dan and Brian. "I boned her, too. She was the fifth one today, but fuck it, you know? I got nothing better to _do_."

" _Fifth_?" Dan mouthed to Brian, who wrinkled his nose in something between envy and distaste. To Michael, he said: "That's nice. It's less nice that you're following me around again."

"Had to prove my skillz, didn't I? And in case you'd call shenanigans, I only had other me to wingman me. Also, check this out."

He pulled out his tape recorder and hit play, and a series of the worst pick-up lines ever as presented by Michael and his doppelganger followed, ending with the woman surprisingly consenting to a quick tumble in the men's room.

A wiser man would have taken this as a second opportunity to turn back and forget all about the matter. There was no way this would end well - this much Dan knew for certain, even in his mild inebriation. But there comes a point in a man's life when emotions of defeat and shame simply override logic. In Dan's case, this momentary but very frequent loss of common sense resulted in him saying:

"Yeah, but--"

"Don't do it," Brian interrupted in a poorly disguised three-parter cough.

Dan continued: " _But_ , she was drunk. She said so herself. That's hardly an achievement. Plus, if I had myself to wingman me too, I definitely could-- I mean, me and Brian, we definitely-- probably could, like, at least..."

He let the rest of his protest linger off, because there was no way he could honestly end the sentence without sabotaging his own argument. He hung his head in shame and pleaded with his eyes for Brian to help in protecting the very easily dispelled delusion they both chose to believe in, wherein nice guys were always rewarded for their kindness and hard work (or at least won the occasional pointless argument against a psychopathic man-child with a Windex habit and the intellect of a brain-damaged goat).

"And you could've, uh, paid her," Brian filled in, audibly angry about the feeling of pity that was forcing him to help. "I actually wouldn't be surprised if you had. If you're anything like _my_ partner, you'll go to any insane lengths to prove a point."

"I would, wouldn't I?" Michael mused, rubbing his nonexistent beard thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Dan confirmed, and whispered a quick _thank you_ to his duplicate. "You would, so I guess we'll never objectively find out if it's luck or skill."

Brian patted him on the shoulder with a strained smile. Through his teeth and out of the corner of his mouth, he muttered: "Quit while you're ahead, O'Brien."

Michael continued his contemplation: "I guess this means there's really no way..."

"Last call," Brian recommended.

"Nope," Dan told him, grinning victoriously.

"Except by showing it to you personally!" Michael concluded. He grabbed Dan's forgotten drink and downed the rest of it in one go. Then he grabbed Dan by the shoulders. "Let's do this."

Dan's grin faltered as he eyed the hands on him with growing alarm. "What? We're doing what, now?"

"This is good! You're already playing hard to get," Michael decided. "I always do my best work under pressure."

" _How_ could you not be aware of bringing these things upon yourself", Brian accused.

 


End file.
